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Emily Bronte. Wuthering Heights. London: Penguin, 1965

It’s interesting to re-read this novel after a gap of over thirty years. What struck me forcibly aged around thirteen, was the violence and cruelty, particularly the hanging of Isabella's dog, which I barely noticed this time around. Reading it now, although Catherine and Heathcliff are really unpleasant characters, wilful, capricious, filthy tempered, and devoid of a discernible soft side, even towards each other, I am struck by the decency of Edgar Linton. As a teenager I thought him intolerably wet and uninteresting.

The mistreatment of the adopted Heathcliff by his new siblings is slightly mitigated by Catherine befriending him later, but his isolated state, as an unwelcome guests is pitiful. The later mistreatment of both Heathcliff and Catherine, by her elder brother Hindley, is harder to understand, and so seems to be wilful power abuse on his part. Hindley Earnshaw is the villain of the piece, because of his neglect of his sister, and cruelty to Catherine and Heathcliff, which strikes me as so casual in its destruction as to be incomprehensible. As a teenager I accessed rage and passion when reading this book. Now, I am incredulous. None of the characters are likeable. Surprisingly, Nelly stands out as a key player in the drama, not the innocent witness narrator she seems on first reading. Her choice of what to tell, and when, and what to keep concealed, drives the plot. She is mindful of losing her job, and culpable for much of what takes place. It's intriguing that she's Mrs Dean without any mention of her having a husband, yet she is a virtual child when first at the Heights, living throughout the tale to old age, whenever did she find time to find love?

The most odd thing about the novel, it seems to me now, is the appalling isolation suffered by the young Catherine. She is a virtual prisoner of her father at the Grange, and meets no-one but him and the household staff. No wonder she longs to roam the moors and meet anyone, however dubious a character they may be. This places the seemingly benign Edgar Linton as a controlling parent, who willingly starves his daughter of society, and to what end? Even the Bronte's met more people than did she, so this deliberate confinement of the young Catherine is stranger then even their lives in Haworth Parsonage. At least there were siblings.

All this aside, it is hard to comprehend the extreme bitterness and hatred of Heathcliff which is so protracted and calculating. It would be easier to understand Heathcliff giving Hindley a good kicking, or killing him. It is the slow manifestation of his revenge that repels me now, and leaves Heathcliff still isolated.

Redemption finally comes for the accursed families when young Catherine shows kindness. The first kindness in the novel, after that of the original Mr Earnshaw bringing home the waif in the first place, triggers all to come right. Heathcliff sees the beginnings of affection awakening in the old house, full of ghosts and misery, and then his Catherine comes for him, and he goes, to my relief.

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